Hunt In Reverse

The pilgrims' faces were serene, their eyes filled with genuine devotion.

But as Chandra Banerjee watched them, listening to their rhythmic chanting, a prickle of unease crawled down his spine. The atmosphere wasn't one of peace and tranquility; it was... unsettling. Something felt off, like a discordant note in a harmonious melody.

He exited the hall, turning to me with a worried frown.

"What now, Colonel Kane?" he asked. "We're in the right place, but... this isn't exactly incriminating."

This was no longer a simple personal vendetta. Chandra had heard the news on their way here: I had humiliated a significant portion of Seattle's young elite back at the Canlis Restaurant.

I'd left no room for compromise, no avenue for retreat. Now, countless eyes watched, their hostility temporarily masked, waiting to see what I would do.

If I faltered, if I showed weakness, if I failed to maintain my forceful momentum and decisively dismantle Kongo Shintai... they would sense my uncertainty, and the backlash would be swift and merciless.

Accusations of abuse of power, of corruption, of bending the law for personal gain... those complaints would pile up on the Admiral's desk.

And it wasn't just the outsiders. Within H.A.R.M., I had gained the trust and respect of the agents and officers, a level of authority rarely seen in a mere personal attendant. But that authority was still new, still fragile. If I faltered now, that trust could crumble like a sandcastle in a storm.

"Get up!" one of the Containment Division colonel snarled, flipping the novice monk over. "What games are you playing? Where's your jushoku?"

"The jushoku... the jushoku isn't here, sir," the novice stammered. "We're simply leading the pilgrims in meditation and essence gathering. What's all this about?"

He tried to plead for mercy as I approached, but I merely reached out and lifted the monk's robe, my fingers pressing against the novice's flesh and bone.

"Just started training?" I asked, straightening up.

"What are you talking about?" the novice blurted, his heart pounding. "What training?"

But before he could finish, a sharp cry tore from his throat. "Aagh!" My boot, clean and polished, casually crushed the novice's arm. The sickening crack echoed through the hall.

I had been observing silently, assessing the situation, letting the tension build. Now I stepped forward, my Wave Realm aura sweeping through the temple, dispelling the lingering smoke.

The pilgrims looked up, their blissful expressions twisting into confusion, then despair. They clutched their clothes, veins bulging in their necks. Their chanting faltered, morphing into pained groans. They sniffed the air frantically, but the source of their earlier contentment was gone.

"Master!" one wailed. "I'll write home! I'll bring my grandson to join us in meditation!"

"More mercy!" another begged.

One of the pilgrims stumbled to his feet, his face gaunt, his eyes hollow. He looked like a corpse reanimated.

"Give me... paper and pen..." he rasped.

Chandra and the other agents exchanged startled glances, their brows furrowing.

I brushed aside the withered hand clutching at my sleeve, my eyes glowing with golden light once more as I activated the Aura Observation technique. The hall shimmered, white mist and golden light swirling before me, revealing the hidden currents of essence that flowed through the temple.

Then, I saw it: a faint trace of crimson seeping from beneath the statue. I deactivated the technique and strode towards the Buddha, my fist cocked.

With a powerful blow, I struck the clay figure, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Dust billowed, revealing a hidden passage beneath the shattered remains.

"You stay guard up there," I ordered, my voice leaving no room for argument. I descended the stairs, the two Containment Division colonels bowing their assent. Chandra, breathing a sigh of relief, hurried after me.

"They have all these people hidden away, and secret passages..." he muttered. "There's more to this than just scamming pilgrims for incense money."

But he trailed off, his face paling as a foul stench wafted up from below. He clapped a hand over his nose and mouth, fighting back the urge to gag, but continued to follow me.

The stairs seemed to descend endlessly, spiraling down into the depth of the mountain. Finally, we reached the bottom, our boots sinking into the damp, muddy floor. The air was thick with a nauseating blend of odors: excrement, blood, the pungent musk of unwashed bodies...

Before us stretched a row of cells, enclosed by rusty iron bars. The cells themselves were little more than rough-hewn caves, their only furnishing a stone trough filled with a vile mixture of excrement and some sort of gruel. A scattering of medicinal powder clung to the rim.

Within those filthy troughs, emaciated figures lay half-submerged, their faces pale and gaunt, their cheeks smeared with excrement.

Their eyes were dull, their movements sluggish as they mindlessly scooped up handfuls of the foul gruel. After a few bites, they would collapse onto their sides, licking at the medicinal powder, their eyes widening, their bodies wracked with violent tremors.

Once the spasms subsided, they would lie still, their vacant gazes fixed on the muddy floor. Some managed to crawl towards the bars, their skeletal fingers gripping the iron, their heads banging feebly against the cold metal.

Chandra Banerjee surveyed the seemingly endless rows of cells, his stomach churning.

He'd witnessed countless horrors in this vampire-infested world, but the sheer depravity of this place... it was a new low.

"How could the jushoku stay in place like this?" Chandra spat, the term "monk" now tasting like ash in his mouth. The hypocrisy of it all, the sanctity of the temple above masking this grotesque underbelly, filled him with disgust.

"Perhaps he's grown accustomed to it," I replied, my voice low. I continued deeper into the subterranean complex.

Even counting from when Butcher Garcia killed Santiago, this operation had been running for years.

"What's he doing with these people?" Chandra wondered aloud. "If he wanted to raise livestock, he could just raise pigs."

I stopped, tilting my chin towards a scene unfolding ahead. Two elderly men were tipping wooden buckets into a large pit.

The thick crimson liquid within churned and bubbled, flecked with streaks of milky white and clots of blood, a gruesome concoction that sent a wave of nausea through Chandra.

The men set down their buckets and turned to face us, their expressions devoid of surprise. They'd clearly been expecting us.

"You're a step too late," one said, his voice flat. "This is where you die."

Chandra recognized the two men. Both were elders of Kongo Shintai, their realm exceeding even that of Kenzo.

"Damn it," he cursed, his hand instinctively moving to his sword. "You have to let me have one of them, Colonel Kane."

"Take them both," I replied, my gaze fixed on the pool of blood.

"Both?" Chandra began, about to protest, when his attention was drawn to the churning pool.

The churning intensified, the blood bubbling and frothing as if boiling. The level dropped rapidly, revealing a pale, hairless head. The man's eyes were bloodshot, his gaze vacant and unfocused.

In the blink of an eye, the entire pool of blood drained away, absorbed into his body.

Black and white energies surged beneath his skin, not demonic, but harmonious, a perfect balance of yin and yang. His aura swelled, casting him in an almost divine light, like a wrathful protector, a vanquisher of vampires.

"Through the delusions of a billion kalpas, transcend the cycle of rebirth, and attain the Dharma body." The jushoku rose slowly, his movements stiff and mechanical—like a bedridden patient taking their first steps. His body seemed foreign to him, as if he inhabited an unfamiliar vessel.

"Ah?" Chandra's grip tightened on his sword hilt. Was this his twisted interpretation of the scripture? Instead of enduring countless kalpas himself to reach Buddhahood, he inflicted those kalpas on others, stealing their essence to achieve transcendence and the Dharma body. Had this old man taken the scriptures far too literally, in justifying his monstrous act?

"Thank you... Thank you..." The jushoku convulsed, his palms pressed together in prayer towards the imprisoned wretches, their suffering fueling his twisted ascension.

He reached for the two Kongo Shintai elders, pulling them into a tight embrace. Before they could speak, their eyes bulged, their bodies emitting a sickening crunch. The jushoku released them, and their lifeless forms crumpled to the ground, their bodies as limp and lifeless as discarded rags. Two masters, each as powerful as Kenzo, extinguished in an instant.

The jushoku stared at the corpses at his feet, first with surprise, then broke into a shrill, chilling laugh that echoed through the subterranean chamber. "May I achieve enlightenment, become a Buddha, and guide countless beings to salvation..." he cackled. "I have achieved perfection! I was ready to guide you, but you lack the capacity to receive my grace!"

With that, he sprang forward, his body smashing through the thick stone wall as if it were made of paper. He vanished into the tunnel, leaving a trail of dust and debris in his wake.

Chandra stared at the two corpses, his blood running cold. He'd heard rumors of Kongo Shintai Jushoku acquiring a half-volume of the Crystal Realm body tempering technique, but he'd never believed in the concept of a "half-step" Crystal Realm. What he'd just witnessed, however, shattered his understanding of martial arts.

"Thank you," a voice said from behind him. Chandra flinched, instinctively hugging himself. He turned to see me pinching a wisp of black and white essence between my fingers. I deposited it within the silver bell, then turned and strode towards the exit.

"Thank me for what?" Chandra murmured, bewildered. Why was everyone being so polite today?